He Knows Me
by CardioQueen
Summary: Bang. 3.133.14 range.


He's angry with me.

I get him to speak to me for the first time in weeks, and the first words out his mouth were 'marry me.'

It wasn't even a question, not that it mattered.

But those were his first words? Seriously?

He knows me. He knows how I am. He knows that I have issues or whatever.

The first damn thing he said was 'Marry me.'

But then he said, 'Marry me Cristina Yang.'

And to hear him utter my name in his silky voice, the emotions overwhelmed me, there was too much too fast.

I was silent again.

How can you be in love with someone and hate them all at the same time, how can you want so badly to spend the rest of your life with the man you love, but be so afraid to admit it.

How can I be like that?

There's so much to take in. The words. The ring. The future.

Our future.

I couldn't say yes.

It's not that I didn't want to or whatever. It's not like that at all, but it's so hard for me to say yes.

It's so hard for me to just give in that easily.

I let him win. Wasn't that enough for him?

He knows me, dammit.

And here's where I find myself now. He's angry with me, and I'm stuck in our room, twiddling this stupid ring around wondering what the hell I can say to make it better.

My heart aches and I fear the tears sting at my eyes again as indecision overwhelms me again, and I don't know the answer to all of my questions.

He tried to put it on my finger, the ring, and I pulled my hand away like he was trying to remove my finger with a ten blade.

The hurt in his eyes, the rejection shone through.

Stupid ring.

Stupid proposal.

Stupid game.

I let him win.

Stupid Burke.

I look down to the ring again and a small smile turns up the corner of my lips.

It's really freakin' pretty, and God only knows how much he dropped on it. It's definitely not something I expected.

How the hell did he even know what size ring I wear?

How the hell does he know me so well?

I slide the ring to the tip of my finger, reluctant at first to slide it the rest of the way on, but then I realize.

He knows me.

He knows that I could never say no to him, that I could never leave him, that I could never be without him.

The ring finds it's way down the rest of my finger and it's a perfect fit.

We're a perfect couple.

In our own little deranged and special way.

I scoot to the edge of the bed and the floor is cold beneath my feet and I can smell fresh coffee brewing.

Everything seems so lucid now.

I creep into the living room quietly.

I came in here to think.

I came into our bedroom as his girlfriend.

I'm leaving it as his fiance.

God, that's weird.

He's standing at the counter in a solemn silence and I feel bad for dragging this out, I feel bad for making him feel this way.

I lean against him, my hands placed on the counter, and his lips brush against my forehead sending a shiver down my spine and I feel his eyes trail from my face down my arm to my left hand where I where is ring.

"Are you saying yes?" He asks me quietly.

I look to him, the surreality of the moment overwhelming me and the lucidity of what it all means taking control of my thoughts and I step closer to him, grasping to his body, holding him tight.

Taking the plunge, holding on for dear life.

"You know me." I mumble.

"I do."

"You know that I don't want to make some big deal out of this or whatever, and I don't do those big white floofy dresses."

"Are you saying yes?" He repeats, his eyes brightening.

"And you aren't calling your mom. I don't want to even think about what she'd say about all of this, because you know she hates me. She thinks I'm a selfish racist stripper."

"Cristina." He chides.

"What?"

"Are you saying yes?" He tilts my chin so I'm looking up to him and I ache to kiss him, to make love to him.

God. When did we start making love?

"Are you asking?" I tease lightly.

"I already did."

"No, you told me to. That wasn't a question. And I don't want you getting on one knee or something because it's really old and tired."

"Marry me." He says.

There's still no question to it.

But this time, I know the answer.

"Yeah. I will."


End file.
